


a keen eye for the victim

by writevale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Compulsion, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slapping, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, no beta we die like men, peter is soft even when he's not, returning from sea, the eroticism of fear, two bastard men feed each other and their gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: The door swings open immediately, revealing the broad frame of The Lonely's favourite Captain. Elias is midway through a solicitous 'Good afternoon, Mr Lukas.' when he catches sight of Peter's face and stops abruptly.'Oh, dear.' He sighs instead. 'Lock the door, Peter.'-Peter returns to London. He is not the only one who's hungry.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 18
Kudos: 318





	a keen eye for the victim

**Author's Note:**

> (this was on anon, now it is not!)

A manicured finger traces down the list of appointments and taps twice at the 2pm in satisfaction. Elias Bouchard removes his suit jacket carefully and hangs it on the coat stand in the corner of his office with a small smile. He undoes his cufflinks, rolls up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt with a practiced fastidiousness.

He unlocks the top drawer of his desk and takes out a distinctly unremarkable wooden box. Another click of a lock and the box opens to reveal the items Elias likes to keep around should his often-time husband come to visit.

It never hurts to prepare for these things.

*

There is a knock at the door at 1:58pm. Two gentle thumps suggestive of a heavy-handed familiarity. Elias sighs, straightening up from the accounts he had been pretending to pore over, and the exhale catches behind his teeth as the plug inside him shifts a fraction.

He stares at the imposing mahogany of his office door, simmering in his own arousal and the imagined view of Peter on the other side. He'd be shifting from foot to foot, woollen coat beaded with droplets of mist. Elias knows he has been landlocked for some time now. Family business. But he secretly hopes that Peter's lips will still be chapped from the sea breeze, rough and salty against his own.

Since the restoration of Big Ben, there has been no helpful chiming to move his meetings along. So Elias waits until he Knows that it's 2pm before uttering a curt: 'Enter.'

The door swings open immediately, revealing the broad frame of The Lonely's favourite Captain. Elias is midway through a solicitous 'Good afternoon, Mr Lukas.' when he catches sight of Peter's face and stops abruptly.

'Oh, dear.' He sighs instead. 'Lock the door, Peter.'

He'd last laid an Eye on Peter two weeks ago when he returned from a long voyage on The Tundra, just before he'd shrouded himself deep in The Lonely that shrouded the Lukas Mansion and Elias had decided that the effort of trying to penetrate that just to watch him was simply not worth it. It's not like they're married.

He'd looked fine two weeks ago.

Peters obeys the command as silently as his huge boots on the floorboards will allow. By the time he has turned back around Elias is standing right in front of him, using the Captain's distraction to avoid revealing the awkward sashay of his walk in his current state. Peter's skin is ashen, almost bloodless, in the cool grey light that filters in through the many windows in Elias' office. The line across his cheeks marking the start of his dark, barely tamed beard, sits beneath jutting cheekbones. Elias doesn't recall ever seeing them stand out so prominently in the otherwise classically rounded Lukas face. Peter stares down at him. His sluggish pupils are the most alive thing about his usually turbulent eyes.

'Oh, dear.' Elias repeats. Peter looks _famished_.

He runs his hands up Peter's strong chest, pushing upwards at the shoulders so that the heavy, wet coat slides off and lands on the floor with a muffled thump. The thick strands of Peter's jumper feel delightful under Elias' fingertips but he tuts at Peter's lack of initiative.

'Take it off, or I'll have to cut it off.' As weak as he seems to be, Peter takes the welfare of his ganseys seriously and he steps back from Elias to pull the wool over his head. Elias hums thoughtfully at the white, white skin that is revealed underneath. 'How are the family?' Peter ducks down to start unlacing his boots in lieu of answer. 'Did they ask after me?'

'No.' Peter grunts as he steps out of his shoes, still towering over Elias. The fact he has dignified the question with a response is a little disappointing.

As is the whisper of a kiss Peter leans down to press against Elias' golden curls.

If Elias cared a little more he would stop this. Would sit Peter down with a finger of whisky - not that dreadful stuff he keeps in his hip flask - and summon the last Lonely statement giver for Peter to play with until he felt a little better. The only problem is, he doesn't care at all. _Not,_ he thinks as he runs his hands down through the hair on Peter's chest, _one bit_. The Lonely is not the only patron which desires to feed.

Peter's breath catches as Elias' small hands seize onto the back of his neck, dragging him down to bite a kiss into his cold lips. He tastes like the first dew on the Pennines, of unzipping your tent to find that the rest of the campsite has disappeared and you are - blissfully, terrifyingly -

alone.

Peter seems to come back to himself like the breaking of a great wave. The callouses on his huge hands are rough against Elias' cheeks as the captain tilts his head back to deepen the kiss with a gruff, aborted noise of contentment. If Elias makes any sound in response he isn't aware of it for he has let the Eye open, drinking in the knowledge of Peter's movements and experiences over the past few months.

He feels the slick grind of Peter's mouth against his own but he is sitting at the long, black table in the dining room of the Lukas family mansion, feeling the wingspan of elbow room between him and his neighbours, watching the flickering candelabras lining the table which make eye direct eye contact with those across from him impossible. A sick, swooping feeling rises in his stomach before falling like a stone into the bottom of a well as he watches the back of a grand armchair by an unlit fireplace and hears Peter's father spit ' _I hope you shan't be so foolish as to marry that man again_ '. He sees Peter, alone in a bed that has frequently been called theirs, with his name on those pale lips and a hand slipping down to where the sheet tents-

He's brought back to the present by a sharp nip of teeth at his neck. He shoves at Peter's solid frame even as something hot and angry uncurls in his groin. Throughout their entire acquaintance, Peter has never been permitted to leave marks above his collar.

'Elias.' Peter's growl practically vibrates through his skull. 'I _can't_.'

Elias ignores him, grabbing Peter's wrist to move it in the direction of his arse (since he, apparently, is doing all the work today) and crowding closer to suck one of Peter's nipples into his mouth. He's in the middle of Watching a _very_ interesting conversation between Mikaele Salesa and one of Peter's crew members when a hand fists tights into his hair and snaps his head back. Somehow, Peter has trapped Elias' wrists in his other hand. Peter holds him there, a new pinkness to his lips the only colour on his face. His grey eyes are patient but _so tired_ , so very tired.

'Elias,' He touches his lips to Elias' forehead as the Head of the Magnus Institute squirms in his grip. 'I like to think that I don't ask you for very much-'

'Yes, _yes_. Alright.' Elias cuts him off snippily, wrenching his hands out of Peter's grasp to expertly release him from the confines of his trousers before he could say anything stupid or, Beholding forbid, make a bet about how long Elias can last without Knowing anything about what Peter has been up to since their last rendezvous. 'But it is, really, _terrible_ etiquette to interrupt someone when they're feeding.' _And_ , he adds privately as he sinks to his knees on the hard floor of his office, _it just tastes better if you're not enjoying it._

He makes sure he has Peter in his mouth fully before he opens the Eye again. Perhaps this way he'll think twice before doing anything stupid to wrench Elias away from the knowledge he's drinking down like a glass of cold water after a long stint in the desert.

He barely notices the distant crescendo of static.

'Oh, _come now_ , Peter!' He snarls from his suddenly empty mouth. It whips out against the curling fog at the edges of his office as though he had just uttered a filthy curse on Peter's name. The sudden loss of that sweet flow of information from Peter is like a kick to his stomach and Elias finds himself doubling over on the polished floorboards, wincing as it causes the plug inside him to shift suddenly. He straightens slowly. A shiver runs through him as the cold mist creeps beneath the collar of his shirt to settle on his skin.

He hopes that Peter can feed off vague irritation because he simply refuses to feel fear.

Seconds pass. Elias waits, shivering, on the floor and keeps a firm hand on the writhing panic threatening to shoot out into his chest. The mist is like a cataract clouding the visions he would usually claim with a startling clarity.

Heart thudding, he makes a show of checking his nails. He debates getting started on his own but any interest in his cock at the feel of Peter's mouth on his neck has dissipated into the Lonely and the thought of masturbating here, of what a display of solitude might do in the realm of this Patron, leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

'I can behave.' He sing-songs into the encroaching cloud of static. 'Why don't you let me show you?'

Elias gasps as a pair of large hands encircle his neck from nowhere and his head is snapped back to reveal Peter towering behind him. There's something hot and furious in his eyes now that wasn't there before. The man is no-where close to being satiated but he's clearly found something to feed from.

'I should just leave you here.' He grumbles and gasps as Elias tugs on the knowledge of the dirty plans Peter had been thinking up while he was watching Elias through the fog.

'But darling,' He drawls, far more confident that he's going to be let out of this gloomy, superimposition of his office now that Peter is physically in front of him. 'That wouldn't be anywhere near as fun, would it now?'

Peter's hands tighten around his neck and Elias stumbles to his feet as he is dragged upwards and twisted so that his cheeks brush into the soft hair of Peter's beard. His mouth falls open and is immediately consumed by Peter's lips, warmer now. He doesn't moan, not quite, but he feels one of Peter's hands push down his trousers and underwear at the same time as he Knows that each time his hipbone bumps into Peter's erection it sends a frisson of pleasure up the taller man's spine. He twists his hips on purpose, feels a momentary hot pressure on his right side and Peter growls.

'Cheating.' The Captain complains as he releases Elias briefly so that he can step neatly out of his clothes. Elias watches Peter lick his palm and fist his own cock roughly. The frigid tickle of the Lonely's mist feels like a cool kiss on the head of it each time he pulls the foreskin back. Peter likes that.

He's not expecting the slap when it comes. A sharp sting across his cheeks that only heightens the thrill that a part of Peter is dying under the pressure of being so thoroughly _known_. ' _Cheating_.' He grunts again.

'As is doing this here.' Elias retorts, wiping his mouth and unsurprised to see that Peter hasn't made him bleed. After all, he should know better. 'But, we're both _hungry_ aren't we, Peter?'

Another kiss to conceal the way their breaths come in short, desperate pants. Peter's fingers snake in between the soft flesh of Elias' buttocks and he lets out a hum of surprise as they come to rest on the flared glass base of the plug there.

'Oh good, you got there in the - ah!- end.' The effect of his dripping sarcasm is rather ruined as Peter moves the glass in a circular movement and it drags deliciously inside Elias. Peter's erection is hot against his bare stomach where it slips under the hem of his shirt. He looks up into Peter's eyes and can see himself looking back, a red splash across his cheek where Peter had struck him.

'Stop talking.' Peter commands simply. It's the tone that makes the men on his ship tremble but it simply provokes a grin from Elias. Peter's salt-roughened hands come to rest along the smooth line of Elias' jaw. 'Stop. Talking.' He repeats, pressing an incongruously soft kiss to Elias' kiss-swollen lips and Elias feel that old treachery swirling in the Sailor's chest. That emotion that is far too dangerous for a place like the Lonely and far too delicate for the Beholding's scrutiny. He clamps his mouth shut and Peter smiles. 'Good.'

Elias lets his hands run through the salt and pepper tangle of hair on Peter's chest as the other man leans back blindly to rummage through Elias' desk drawers.

'Peter.' Elias breaks his silence. 'I do not keep lubricant in my desk drawers.'

'You used to.' Peter huffs. Elias is suddenly granted a vision of a haughty, aristocratic child being told that _yes, they do have to attend the funeral._ Elias sighs and flips open the lid of the box he had retrieved earlier. He smirks at the way Peter's mind races as his eyes take in its contents. 'Why have I never seen this before?' Peter scowls even as he shuffles out of his trousers and pants.

'Perhaps you're not the only client I deal with, Mr Lukas.' It's a filthy lie but he Knows that the seed of doubt will feed Peter's loneliness for a while. _And he always acts like I never do anything nice for him_.

Peter's eyes are cold as he watches Elias squirt a few pumps of lube into his hand and grasp Peter's erection with it, coating it with an excess of the slick substance. He feels the hungry tide of desire in Peter as the Captain watches his eyelids flutter as he pulls the plug out of himself and rests both it and the lube on the desk, pointing upwards so as not to dirty his papers. 

They say nothing as Peter's hands slip round his waist, thumbs brushing along the prominent bumps of his pelvis. If Elias didn't Know the way his mind was racing away at hundreds of knots, he could be excused for thinking that Peter's caress was something tender. Peter appears to be steadfastly ignoring the swelling in Elias' cock. _Some things never change._

'Ah! Peter!' Elias gasps as strong fingers dig into the muscle of his buttocks and he is lifted off the floor. He wraps his arms around Peter's neck reflexively, legs squeezing hard around Peter's waist, and the movement brings their chests together, his mouth at the junction between Peter's jaw and neck. He moans loudly in spite of himself as his early preparation pays off and the hot head of Peter's cock bumps at his entrance twice before slipping inside. He swallows Peter's answering groan in an open mouthed kiss.

In this position, Peter can do little more than fill Elias, tiny jerks of his hips a constant reminder of the fact. Elias' own erection is trapped between their bellies, the friction of their grinding bodies just shy of _enough_. Elias Knows how each squeeze of his legs causes him to tighten deliciously around Peter, how Peter is absurdly turned on by the smell of Elias' sweat beneath his cologne, how the aborted sounds from deep in Elias' chest make Peter want to stick his fingers deep down Elias' throat to see if he can catch them.

Peter's thick eyebrows furrow with exertion. Peter grits his teeth together and Elias Knows just how much it _burns_ to hold them both up like this. Peter is -

Peter is disappearing.

'No!'

The man before him becomes a little more opaque. His grimace transforms into a grin at the look of terror on Elias' face.

'Behave, then.'

'Don't drop me!' He insists haughtily. Peter's chuckle is a rumble against his neck. A precursor to the nip of teeth that makes Elias hiss.

'Oh, Elias. I won't drop you. I'll just _leave you_.'

He searches Peter's intentions, trying to decide how serious this lonely man he once re-married is. The handsome crow's feet at the corners of his eyes start to blur and disappear and Elias's panic gets muddled in with a particularly forceful thrust.

'God, Peter!'

'If you like.'

He bites Peter's chest. Hard. Trying to focus on the feel of warm flesh between his teeth and the accompanying yelp instead of the flood of pleasure-pain he Knows is coursing through Peter's veins. Peter groans as Elias shifts his weight so that he can wrap a hand around his cock, smearing a thin line of precome across Peter's pale skin.

Elias lets out another high-pitched startled noise as Peter spins them around and deposits him less than gently on the desk. He pins Elias' wrists up by his unusually mussed curls. A darkening mark blooms on Peter's chest where Elias' teeth had been moments before.

Peter fucks him brutally, accompanying each thrust with a deep groan of satisfaction. _This is what he came here for_ , Elias doesn't need the Beholding to know that, _no matter how much he insists otherwise_. With his wrists pinned, it's all Elias can do but arch his back off the desk to adjust the angles of Peter's vicious thrusts into something that sends spikes of pleasure racing up his spine. Each thrust of Peter's hips drives him closer to the edge and he wishes his hands were free because it would give the Captain far too much satisfaction to watch him come without being touched. Far too much.

Elias opens his Eye and sees himself from Peter's viewpoint, legs splayed, an ugly red flush on his chest, pupils like all-consuming black-holes.

'Peter!' He Sees himself moan. There's a burning sensation low in his balls that accompanies the vision. Peter's lips quirk. 'I'm going to-'

'FUCK.' Elias all-but screams into the empty office. Peter's sudden disappearing act has left him feeling so very empty and completely exposed. The chill of the fog is no mercy against his aching erection and he squeezes the base of it hard to prevent himself from spilling over himself. Alone. 'Fuck!' He repeats, slamming a fist down onto the unyielding surface of the desk.

Peter's chuckle floats through the grey haze in the office. Taunting. It has an upper-class geniality to it, such that it would serve as a fine accompaniment to cheese and wine. _Fuck_ , Elias thinks. He doesn't sound quite so famished anymore.

'Elias.' His voice is a purr as he appears on the other side of the desk. His cock is a dusky purple where juts out from his naked body. 'Close your eyes.' He says. Elias acquiesces, world narrowing to what he can see through Peter's. He jumps as Peter flicks him in the forehead. 'All of them . . . Good. Open your mouth.'

Peter's erection is a hot, salty intrusion, large enough to stretch Elias' lips. He chokes briefly as it pushes past his tongue and into the back of his throat. One of Peter's large hands comes to massage Elias' neck and he growls as Elias hums around him.

It's pleasant. Being used like this. For a brief moment Elias is not a vessel for his God. He exists in the Lonely. And he is taken.

The only warning Elias is granted is the abrupt tightening of Peter's hand around his neck and then Peter is coming down his throat, holding Elias firmly in place even as he coughs and splutters against it. He gasps for breath as Peter finally pulls out, shaking the last few drops of come over Elias' red lips before stepping back with an elated ' _ah_!'

Elias licks his lips, eyes firmly closed. He hears Peter drop to his knees behind the desk. Feels the gentle press of lips to his forehead.

'Go on then, my little voyeur.'

Elias' breath hitches as he strokes a line from the base of his cock to the head with a fingertip. His hips roll upwards of their own volition.

'Peter.' He says it like a moan to throw the man off the scent, grips his shaft and puts the not-inconsiderable might of Compulsion behind his question: ' _Why did you come here?'_

He hears Peter hiss right by his ear. A sticky hand winds into Elias' hair and pulls hard. It feels wonderful.

' _Dammit, Elias.'_ Peter curses before the truth spills out of him and onto Elias' skin like the crash of a great wave. 'Because I _missed_ you. Because when I'm not with you I think about you all the time and it is almost as consuming as my God.' He tugs Elias' hair harder as the blonde man strokes himself faster. 'I need to come home to you just as much as I need to be away from you.' Peter moans like the words are being ripped right out of him. _Which_ , Elias supposes, _They rather are_.

Peter might admit something else, lost in his post-orgasmic haze and the seduction of the Beholding. But it is buried under Elias' moan as he bucks into his hand and comes.

*

Elias clinks the teaspoon against his cup in a way he knows sets Peter's teeth on edge. He'd been caned for doing that as a child once, Elias Knows. The Captain is back on the side of the desk he belongs, clothed and sipping his own tea with an ill-disguised pout.

'Oh, now, Peter. Don't be like that.'

'That was a dirty trick.'

Elias sighs, taking in the spots of pink above the line of Peter's beard, the twinkle in his eyes like sunlight bouncing off the sea. 'Yes.' He admits. 'And don't you feel much better for it?' Peter takes another sip, saying nothing. 'Enough sulking, dear. We need to talk business.'

'I thought we already were?' Peter grumbles but the way he straightens a little in his seat betrays his interest. Elias laughs.

Somewhere in the Archives, Martin Blackwood has just returned from the hospital. Alone.

'Oh, no.' His eyes flash, 'Could I interest you in a wager?'

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from What A Fool - Paradisa. That song has _intense_ lonelyeyes vibes and I will not be dissuaded from that fact.


End file.
